


You Look Good on the Dancefloor

by Sway



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-13
Updated: 2014-07-13
Packaged: 2018-02-08 17:19:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1949643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sway/pseuds/Sway
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>it's Cobb's and Mal's wedding and Arthur is the best man but he really just waits for one particular guest...</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Look Good on the Dancefloor

**Author's Note:**

> Mr. Nolan made them up, I just play with them. This is also **not beta'd.** This is probably ridiculously out of character but I had the picture in my head and it wouldn't let go so I slipped it in between other projects.

Arthur knew he was there. From the corner of his eyes, he'd seen him earlier.

Lurking.

At the ceremony, he had taken a seat all the way in the back where nobody was paying attention to him.

At the reception, he had just grabbed a drink, retreating to where nobody would strike a random conversation with him.

He was an invited guest, though. Arthur had seen the guest list, both of them. The official one with friends and family of bride and groom, and the other one with people from work, people with no full names or billing addresses.

Arthur meant to look for him but being the Best Man came with a number of chores and responsibilities.

Bearing the rings. Holding a speech. Dancing with the Maid of Honor. Smiling for pictures.

Of course, he liked doing all this, otherwise he wouldn't have agreed to be Cobb's Best Man. But by the time he was done with all the formalities, he was exhausted. He wanted to kick of the dress shoes he hadn't quite broken in yet, sit back with a drink and just enjoy a bit of piece and quiet.

As soon as that awful DJ (thankfully not his fault) put on "Dreams Are My Reality", he had practically fled the scene. He had excused himself from his table, heading for the club house.

Entering the house through the kitchen, he grabbed a little chocolate tart (a bittersweet sin all by itself) from the kitchen counter, then made his way to the study. The luxurious room smelled of wood and books, a smell he had always liked.

Inside a delicately crafted wooden globe, he found a well stocked bar and poured himself a scotch. He stepped up to the window that overlooked the garden.

The wedding part was still in full swing, despite that horrible taste in music. Apparently only few of the guests were aware of the innuendo, or if they were they didn't care. He saw couples dancing, others chatting over drinks. And he saw Cobb and Mal swaying slowly on the dancefloor, the bride's bone-colored trail winding around the couple's feet.

"It's a nice wedding."

If Arthur hadn't heard the floorboards creak beneath Eames' feet, he would have flinched when the other man suddenly appeared in the study.

"It's Mal's dream wedding." Arthur couldn't help but smirk at his own words. "So to speak." In the reflection of the window, he saw Eames sharing his smile.

"I liked your speech."

"Thanks."

"Your dance looked very smooth, too."

This time, Arthur turned halfway to look at him, one eyebrow raised. "Why did you hide during the wedding?"

Eames shrugged with one shoulder, sauntering half a step forward. "I didn't hide, I just don't like weddings."

"Yeah, you do."

"So I don't fancy smalltalk. Why does it bother you so much? It's not like you'd have danced with me, is it?"

Arthur knew he looked hurt before he saw his own reflection in the window. And he knew Eames had seen it, too. And he hated it.

The last thing he wanted was him to know that he had missed him, that he had been looking forward to today just so they could... do what, exactly? He wasn't even sure what it was they had, if it was a fling, a relationship, a liaison, friends with benefits or if they were just fuck-buddies. Or if non of the above applied to two professional dream-sharers who, if time, situation and level of legality allowed it, got together for a little...

"Would you like to dance with me, Arthur?"

He felt how Eames had stepped up to him, felt the warmth radiating off his body.

In a lame attempt to buy time and to keep his tongue from answering before his brain could have a say, he took a huge bite from the chocolate tart. Munching on the delicious calorie bomb, held up a finger, indication he had an answer to Eames' question.

Eames grabbed him by the shoulder, turning him around. Just as Arthur had swallowed the last of the chocolate, he leaned in and kissed him.

It was only a short kiss, slow and gentle. As Eames pulled back, he ran his tongue over his bottom lip. "You taste good."

Rather dazed, Arthur swayed a little on his feet. "Chocolate truffle," he said lamely. While had been looking for him, longing for him, he hated the effect Eames had on him. While they were apart – and they were apart longer than they were together – he didn't miss him all that much. It was when they finally got together, when they touched for the first time, he realized how much he had, in fact, missed him.

"Yeah, that, too." In the dim light, he saw Eames smile an almost uncharacteristically sweet smile. "So, how do we go about this?"

"What?"

"The dancing. You want to dance, you show me how."

For a moment, Arthur couldn't help but stare at him in disbelieve. "What?" he asked again, blinking a couple of times to make sure he hadn't fallen asleep and was dreaming a very strange dream (no pun intended).

"I suppose I lead?" Eames took his hand in his, tugging him flush against his body.

"Uhm.." Arthur drew in a breath, catching his bearings, and pulled back a little. "That hand's good." He nodded at their joined hands, noticing how well their palms seemed to fit together. "And the other one..." He reached for Eames' wrist and guided it around his waist to rest in the small of his back. "Goes here." Immediately after he had released it, Eames' hand slipped south, cupping his butt cheek. "And no groping." His command sounded rather lame as his voice wavered in response to the touch.

"You're no fun, Arthur." Eames all but pouted but put his hand in a more appropriate place.

Not responding, Arthur took half a step forward and into Eames' personal space, resting a hand on his shoulder. "Now you follow _my_ lead." With his knee, he nudged Eames' in the thigh, making him move his leg backwards. "Nice and slow, one step at a time."

Dancing really no dance at all, they slowly swayed to imaginary music, never breaking the rhythm.

After a while, Arthur wrapped his arm around Eames' neck, stepping closer. The other man let go of his hand, circling his waist, closing the gap between them.

By the time Arthur had both his arm around Eames they were hardly moving at all, only stepping from side to side, half an inch at a time.

He looked up at the Forger only to meet his dark gaze as he looked at him with all sincerity. What little light came in from outside cast deep shadows on his face, on the uneven stubble on his chin, but he could make out his eyes just fine and that look sent a chill down his back.

"Are you staying?" he asked almost inaudibly. He hated how much his fear for the answer strained his voice.

"No," Eames confirmed his apprehension. "My flight leaves in little more than an hour."

Arthur wanted to point out there was still enough time for more than just a dance but he knew one time was never enough. It would only make things worse. "Where are you headed?"

"You know I can't tell you."

Yeah, he did. The more they knew about each other, about the jobs they did, the more danger they were in. Whatever information they gathered, if somebody broke into their dreams and they weren't prepared enough, they would know everything. And that was a risk they had sworn to never take.

While he was well aware that it would make their parting harder, Arthur leaned into him for another kiss. This time, it deepened quickly, tongues tangling at a languid pace. He could taste the chocolate and the scotch and a cigarette he hadn't smoked.

He almost sighed in frustration as Eames pulled back from him, bringing a bit of distance between them.

"I should go now. Gotta run by my hotel on the way to the airport."

Arthur ran his tongue over his lips, savoring the taste of the kiss. He nodded for an answer, trying to avoid Eames' gaze. If he looked up he'd probably ask him to say and that was a weakness he wasn't willing to admit.

Slowly, Eames stepped back from him. Only after he had brought a few yards of distance between them, Arthur dared to speak again. "You didn't even speak to Mal or Cobb." It wasn't important. Actually, he couldn't care less about who he talked to (as long as he talked to him).

"I only talk to Cobb if there is payment involved, he knows that. And I was never particularly... fond of Mal."

Arthur cocked his head, brows furrowing. He didn't even need to ask the question.

Eames held out his hand in a 'there you go'-gesture, shrugging. "I got what I came here for." Without waiting for Arthur's response, he stuffed his hands into his pockets, turned on his heel and left.

Arthur stared after him for a while. He heard tires screeching outside, a cab probably, but it took him a few more minutes to accept the fact Eames wasn't going to come back.

But that wasn't how things were between them. They didn't wait for each other at the airport, they didn't bring each other to the door. If they did, they'd probably have to give whatever this was a proper name. It was easier this way, slipping in and out of situations like this, no questions asked, no repercussions.

There were something for in-between. In-between jobs, in-between moving from one place to another, in-between "Dreams Are My Reality" and "Celebrate".

It was probably for the best this way.

A slow smile spread on Arthur's face as he popped the rest of the chocolate tart into his mouth, washing it down with the last sip of his scotch. Then he straightened his tie and went back to the party.


End file.
